


Towards a Violent Sun

by Mirykirigum



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, I peppered in some bokuaka, Kiyoomi is just as bad, M/M, Miya Atsumu is a Little Shit, Non-Linear Narrative, One Shot, Post-Time Skip, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27589063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirykirigum/pseuds/Mirykirigum
Summary: Miya Atsumu and the terrible, no-good road of falling in love with Sakusa Kiyoomi.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 210





	Towards a Violent Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I wrote over 6000 words just to quote [this](https://hawberries.tumblr.com/post/630146267124776960) comic by hawberries on tumblr

Atsumu’s face hits the wooden counter of Onigiri Miya. “This is the worst thing in the world. Omi-Omi is such an asshole, Samu."

“Get out of my store,” Osamu said, swatting his face with a towel. His twin just groaned.

***

It was all thanks to today's practice. Atsumu has been spending a lot of time trying to get into the perfect rhythm with his new spikers. Everything was going as planned. Atsumu was having a pretty good day. At least until Kiyoomi ruined it by being himself.

Atsumu set the ball. Kiyoomi jumped, his hand outstretched to spike the ball. Then he landed back on his feet without even grazing the ball. He hadn't even tried to touch it, stopping his hand a few seconds before impact and simply letting his fingers linger in the air. Immediately after he landed back on his feet, he turned towards the setter. Piercing eyes found Atsumu's within microseconds. “I’m not hitting that,” he snapped.

“What?”

“I’m not hitting that.” Face expressionless. Eyes vicious. Gaze burning right into Atsumu’s soul.

The setter stared at him, dumbfounded for a second before he fully turned towards him. “What,” he grit through his teeth, drawing up to his full height, chest puffing out as if he were getting ready for a fight. He was. “The fuck?” 

“That toss was terrible,” Kiyoomi announced, unconcerned by the whole situation unfolding before him. Eyes unwavering, still staring at Atsumu as if he were merely observing a fly stuck in his drink. 

Atsumu blinked and then promptly erupted in a string of curses and insults. His accent bubbled over with every syllable.

And this was how their worst fight to date started.

***

Their relationship had always been rocky at best. It began when Sakusa’s eyes first met his at the MSBY Black Jackals tryouts. Sakusa's expression was void of any emotions except the very visible disgust Atsumu could detect in his eyes. 

The first weeks after Sakusa officially joined the team, Atsumu was unbearable. Luckily, he was too competitive to let it affect his time on the court. They both were. But their dislike for each other was clear for all to see. Tension became heavy as soon as they were in the same area. Atsumu was already an acquired taste, but now he was more infuriating than he’d ever been. Mood swings escalated to a point where his teammates decided to ask Osamu for help. Surely his twin must know how to handle the other? His twin merely had shrugged but assured them that he would ask their former captain for advice, as if this would explain anything to them. Hadn't their former captain quit volleyball anyway? But whatever—as long as whatever he came up with worked. They were desperate, after all.

Meanwhile, Sakusa simply looked as though he were plotting Atsumu’s murder every time he spotted the other man.

Honestly, whatever kind of issues they had with each other probably started during their high school days, at the National All-Youth training camp when a too-blunt jerk entered the orbit of some narcissistic little asshole.

***

Atsumu groaned again. “Samu, he’s the worst. Why do I need to be on a team with this jerk?” His twin just rolled his eyes. “Omi-kun hates my guts. I didn’t even do anythin’ to deserve such wrath.”

Osamu huffed, “I don’t believe that for a second.” 

Atsumu glared at him. Sure, he was a cocky prick. And, okay, he might have been extra pissed to learn that Kiyoomi had the nerve to become distressingly hot over the years they hadn't seen each other. Nevertheless, it weren't as if he acted on his asshole instincts. At least not more than usual. So surely there must be another explanation as to why Kiyoomi seemingly hated him to this degree. 

***

Wednesday meant individual training, but Hinata, Atsumu, and Bokuto usually did weights together. Their trio had found friendship between their shared idiocy and apparent monster titles. 

Asking Sakusa to join them was as futile as ever. He simply shook his head and stated that he would go on a run on the field outside their building. Then he took off without awaiting a response. 

“Man, what’s his problem?” muttered Atsumu under his breath as he bent down to choose the right dumbbell.

“Huh?” Hinata popped up from behind him, smile as sunny as usual. 

“Whatcha talkin’ about, Tsum-Tsum?” a beaming Bokuto joined in, dumbbell in hand. His enormous bicep bobbed up and down with each movement of his arm. How he and Hinata managed to be this cheerful even during physical strain was a mystery to Atsumu.

“Omi-Omi,” Atsumu said as if this explained anything. It must have, because Bokuto hummed along.

“He’s pretty cool, right? I hope he’ll join our Wednesday squad someday!”

“Wait, what? Omi-kun is the worst! He hates everyone! Especially me, apparently.”

“Huh?” Hinata asked once again. Tilting his head, he asked, “But aren’t you real close?” Bokuto nodded along enthusiastically.

“What the hell are ya talkin’ ‘bout, Shouyou-kun?”

Hinata set the weights he’d been holding down and he stroked his chin thoughtfully. Bokuto mimicked the pose, leaving the dumbbell in his left hand so he could keep exercising at the same time. “Well, you’re always standing so close! He obviously doesn’t like being touched, but he lets you break into his bubble all the time, right?”

“Remember that one time when we were playing a match against the Red Seagulls?" Bokuto reminded them. "You two did that killer play like”—Bokuto mimicked setting an invisible ball to Hinata while making a _pshsss_ sound—“and then Kiyoomi hit it like _GAH_!” Hinata jumped up to spike Bokuto’s invisible ball. They both cheered as if they'd scored an actual point during the freaking Olympics. For a second, Atsumu regrets not being eaten in the womb by Osamu. “Anyway, after that, you slapped him on the back and he didn’t even, like, gag. I don’t think he even complained! And his frown was like at least fifty percent less murderous.”

Okay, they had a point. Even if not gagging probably should not have been their new standard for camaraderie. 

“And you lean on him all the time and he started ignoring you instead of punching you—or like that one time when he sprayed you with disinfectant!” Hinata piped up. 

Atsumu’s groan was ignored. Back then, he hadn't been aware that Kiyoomi was carrying a spray bottle. The sudden feeling of the disinfectant on his skin surprised him so much that he let out the loudest shriek. Kiyoomi hadn't even said anything afterwards. He didn't need to. His smug little smirk said more than enough.

“Also, Keiji said Omi-kun is probably a mysophobe, so we shouldn’t take such actions to heart,” Bokuto chimed in happily, ignoring whatever emotions must have passed over Atsumu’s face.

“Huh?”

The spiker frowned at him in confusion. “You know, Akaashi Keiji—best author in the world, most handsome man alive, love of my life—” 

Atsumu interrupts him right away. “I know who ‘Kaashi-kun is; it’s not like ya ever shut up about him. Also, we hung out two days ago. You know, like we do all the time? And what the hell is a mysophobe?”

Hinata raised his hand excitedly. “Oh! Oh! I know! Mysophobia is the abnormal fear or hatred of uncleanliness or contamination!” Atsumu just stared at him. 

“Why do ya sound like a dictionary?” 

“Akaashi-san taught me!” 

“Okay?” Atsumu nodded slowly. It must be hard being the common sense of a bunch of overgrown pro athletes, but Akaashi certainly made it work. Honestly, he felt a little left out. This seemed to be a lesson he apparently had been excluded from. 

Either way, these two were giving him a headache. He decided to resume his training and ignore everything around him. For a few blessed moments, his brain was free of any thoughts. 

Mysophobia. Mysophobia. _Mysophobia._

Sakusa Kiyoomi was a _mysophobe_.

Abruptly, Atsumu's weights dropped to the ground. Looking up sharply, eyes focusing back on his two teammates, Atsumu felt something click into place. “Wait, what the fuck? So, Omi-Omi doesn’t just hate all of us?” Hinata and Bokuto shared a look in response.

“Uhm, well, we don’t know if he _likes_ us, but he seems pretty content when we leave him his space, right?” Hinata said. At that, all their eyes moved to the figure running in the distance. Hinata shrugged and smiled.

_Huh._

***

“I don’t hate you.”

“Huh?”

Sakusa looked uncomfortable—fingers intertwined, shoulders pulled up...and yet his dark gaze was steady. Meanwhile, Atsumu was stunned into silence. He blinked once, twice. Breathed in. Out. In again. “What?”

Sakusa inhaled sharply causing his eyebrows to twitch in annoyance. His two moles stood out more than usual. “I don’t hate you,” he ground out through his teeth once more. Then he turned around sharply and disappeared out of Atsumu’s field of vision.

_What was that._

Not even a full five minutes later, Atsumu was screeching into his phone, “Samu, ya won't believe what the fuck just happened!” 

A groan was audible on the other side of the line., “Tsumu, it’s my only day off—what the hell do ya want?” 

“What? It’s not like ya gettin’ laid or anythin’.” Osamu hung up, but Atsumu let the phone ring until he answered again. “Anyway, as I was sayin’, I just had the weirdest interaction with Omi-Omi!”

Atsumu heard some shuffling and then a long sigh., “Jjust come over. I refuse to hear ya whine about your shitty love life over the phone one more time.” Before Atsumu could sputter in disbelief, Osamu ended the call once more. 

He muttered, “Samu, ya big fat jerk,” under his breath but still made his way towards his brother's apartment.

The moment he arrived, key still in his hand, he let himself fall onto the ground. He placed his hand on his forehead while an elongated whine escaped him. _I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you. I don’t hate you._ Sakusa’s words were haunting his thoughts. _I don’t hate you._ The weight of that dark gaze felt heavy on his heart. _I don’t hate you._ Kiyoomi...actually looked kinda cute with his brows pinched together and shoulders hiked to his ears. _What the hell?_ Atsumu internally screeched, flustered and prepping to roll into a ball. His hands shielded his reddening face as he let out a groan, keys forgotten by his side.

Already used to his twin's antics, Osamu opened his door and nudged Atsumu with his foot. Not getting any reaction other than a whine, he resigned to his faith and lay down next to him. Slapping his shoulder, he said, “C’mon, out with it, Tsumu. Start from the beginnin’.”

“Omi said he doesn’t hate me,” murmured Atsumu from between his fingers.

“What?”

“I said, Omi-kun told me that he doesn’t hate me!”

Osamu silently studied his twin for a moment. “Yeah, so?”

Atsumu screeched offendedly, “So?! That was so weird? He just came over and said that with the blankest expression ever. No context or anythin’? What is wrong with him? What kind of psychological warfare is he playin’? Who says that and then leaves? Sick bastard.”

Osamu rolled his eyes at his outburst. “Shouldn't ya be glad that you still have a chance with him?” Atsumu made a gagging noise but didn’t deny it. His brother exhaled slowly, muttering something about _missing Kita-san_ under his breath. Osamu nudged him again. “Ya haven’t eaten yet, right? Get up. Let's eat,” he said, getting up and walking towards his kitchen without checking if his brother were following him. He was not, thank you very much. Atsumu decided to treat himself to a few more moments of indulging in his agony. 

***

Somewhere along the way, their fights turned into bickering. Mouths previously twisted in anger turned into smirks. They were still constantly snapping at each other, but the edge was gone. The blows softened. They were still arguing nonstop, but now they shifted to topics that seemingly only made sense to the two of them. Instead of biting each other's heads off, they were now more focused on constantly one- upping each other. 

As much as they irritated each other, they started to spend more and more time together. They were stuck in each other's orbit. Osamu told him it was because no one else wanted to be near them. What a dick. Maybe he had a point, though. 

Now that their words were softened, Atsumu felt more comfortable. And he was the type that when he feels more comfortable, he flirts. Shamelessly. It wasn't as if he'd never made a comment about Shouyou’s cute face and sun-tanned skin. Or even the tree trunks Bokuto called his upper arms. But, with Kiyoomi, it was different.

On a different Wednesday, Atsumu decided to shoot his shot and for once asked Kiyoomi to accompany them to the gym. “It’s leg day, Omi-kun,” he said, an impossible smirk once again taking over his features.

Kiyoomi studied him. Seemingly surprised that Atsumu was asking him instead of one of their friendlier teammates. “I don’t need to be present while you obsess over your vanity tights, Miya.”

“Sounds like you already pay more than enough attention to them, Omi-kun,” Atsumu said, eyes sparkling in glee. Features impossibly handsome, if he said so himself.

Kiyoomi huffed, expression almost fond. “Do you ever shut up?” 

“Only if you ask real nice, Omi-Omi.” Atsumu’s smirk grew sharper with his chin raised in a cocky manner. He even had the gall to wink at him. Kiyoomi wanted to strangle him now, was Atsumu's guess.

Instead, Kiyoomi turned around and started on his run. 

***

Atsumu was not entirely sure how they got there. They were fighting again—an actual fight, for once. They were arguing over service aces and it had escalated from there. Whatever kind of peace treaty they had managed to uphold over the past weeks was now nowhere in sight. Words were sharp like knives again. Eyes burned with something both had yet to grasp. They hadn't had a fight of this calibre in a while. At least nobody was there to see them. 

As in a dance, every step Kiyoomi took forward was answered by Atsumu taking one back. The movement went unnoticed by both until Atsumu suddenly was crowded against a wall. “Ya think you’re so high and mighty. I’ve been part of this team since I graduated high school and ya still are unsatisfied? If ya hated me as ya setter that much, why didn’t ya join a different team, huh?” Atsumu snarled and clenched his fists at his sides.

“What the fuck are you even talking about? Are you really so self absorbed? What is wrong with you?” 

“Oh, shut up, Omi-kun! What? Am I not livin’ up to ya exceptions? We can’t all be fuckin’ robots like ya, alright? Sometimes I don’t have good days. Ya know? Like a person?!” At this point, he was blatantly projecting his own insecurities. He was too far gone in the whirlwind of emotions to notice or care.

“Stop it!” He wasn't yelling, but he might as well have been. “You piss me off so much, Miya! It’s not even funny.” He grabbed Atsumu’s wrist. His fingertips met right by Atsumu's pulse. 

Atsumu could not breathe. His ears were ringing. Kiyoomi was still talking, but Atsumu wasn't listening. They were so close. He could see how dilated Kiyoomi’s eyes were. The dark rings of his iris were swallowed nearly whole by endless black. The two moles over Sakusa’s eyebrow were more brown than black. Perfect curls jostled with each movement. Something in Atsumu’s chest tightened. A heavy feeling slowly settled in the pit of his stomach. He never had been good with affection, if one could even call this affection. Whatever this was, it made Atsumu squirm. He felt hot all over. His body quivered.

His gaze shifted to the point where Kiyoomi had grabbed his wrist. Heat spread from the contact point up his arm and down into the tips of his fingers. Kiyoomi was grabbing him. He was being grabbed by _Kiyoomi._

He stared and stared and stared. Yet Kiyoomi was still holding on to him. 

His eyes flickered up to meet Kiyoomi’s for the briefest of moments before he fixed his gaze back on their intertwined hands.

_What. The. Fuck._

Confused by the lack of response, Kiyoomi stopped in his rant. He stared at Atsumu, but the latter refused to meet his eyes. His face was flushed; even the tips of his ears were red. Kiyoomi followed the other man's gaze, eyes stopping at their joined hands, and blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice, and he started laughing. Atsumu’s gaze snapped back to him. Kiyoomi’s face was flushed and his eyes glinted in disbelief and with mirth. And, honestly, how was that fair? 

“You know what, Miya? You really _do_ bring out the worst in me.”

Their eyes met. Kiyoomi’s laser focus was back on him, gaze as heavy as always, but now there was fondness mixed in there, as well. Kiyoomi’s hand slowly moved upwards, every spot he touched leaving Atsumu wanting. Unhurriedly, Kiyoomi laced their fingers loosely together.

Atsumu’s breath hitched. His skin felt too tight on his body. He swallowed, licked his lips, eyes once again drifting from the other man's eyes back to the way Kiyoomi’s elegant hand perfectly fit into his. _This might as well be happening._

Voice heavy, he answered, “Maybe I like the worst in you.”

***

Later that night, Atsumu texted his brother.

(10:37) Wait do I like Omi-Omi????

(10:46) Duh

Atsumu spent the rest of the night screaming into his pillow.

***

"You bring out the worst in him?"

After his brother turned out to be useless (as he so often did), Atsumu decided to ask someone else for help. This turned out to be Bokuto Koutarou and Akaashi Keiji. How they were the only couple he knew who had been together for ages and still were very much in love, he didn't know, but they were. Disgustingly in love, that was. So he found himself there, in their perfect apartment, on their too comfortable couch, drinking the tea Akaashi had handed him the moment he was let in. 

He had been expected. This was not the first time Atsumu was stuck on their couch, whining about feelings he couldn't even begin to understand. 

Bokuto's eyes were big with confusion as he remarked, "Why would he say that? Isn't that kinda mean?"

 _Why indeed,_ Atsumu thought. He had been searching for the answer to this question for days. The solution was on the tip of his tongue. Correct words had been found already among the clutter in his heart, just not yet placed in the right order. That was what Akaashi was for, being an editor and all.

"Huh," Akaashi started, eyes shifting to Bokuto's form for a microsecond. His gaze was so, so heavy. Atsumu felt as though he'd caught a glimpse of something illicit. "That sounds awfully romantic," he pondered.

Atsumu grit his teeth and clenched the cup in his hand so hard; for a second, he was concerned he'd break it.

“Well,” Akaashi spoke, eyes back on Atsumu. He paid no more than a stray glance to the approaching demise of the teacup. God knew how many teacups Bokuto must have shattered with his boundless enthusiasm and seemingly endless strength. If Atsumu closed his eyes, he could almost see it: Bokuto cradling leftover fragments of fine china in his large hands, tears threatening to spill at the corners of his huge, golden eyes, panicking that his boyfriend would be mad. (As if he would ever.) 

The editor continued, voice bringing Atsumu back to reality, “There's no correct way to speak intimately. Maybe that’s just Sakusa’s way of voicing it. Whatever works, works, right? We’re all a little weird, anyway.” 

Atsumu didn't know how to feel about that. Weird, indeed. He thought about the way Kiyoomi laughed, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners in both resignation and mirth, the weight of Kiyoomi’s hand in his. He had the urge to punch something.

***

Atsumu was getting away with touching Kiyoomi. And it happened a lot. For once, he was not doing it to be an asshole. The need to touch Kiyoomi just came so natural to him lately that he wasn't always aware of doing it. And he was getting away with it. 

A slap on the back after a good play. Swatting at him after a snide comment. An arm thrown over his shoulder to join whatever conversation Kiyoomi was participating in. And he was getting away with all of it. It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying. That one time Kiyoomi actually met his hand in a high five was one of his proudest days to date. 

Atsumu started disinfecting his hands more often, even carrying the exact brand of hand wipes that Kiyoomi seemed to favour. He might have been going insane. Utterly insane. Osamu cackled at him for hours once he found out, the little shit.

Every accidental touch was accompanied by Kiyoomi’s stare. At first, it looked like his normal deadpan expression, but after receiving that gaze so often Atsumu knew better. There was something brewing underneath that neutral expression. Whatever it was, it made Atsumu sweat.

But now he'd done something for which he probably would be murdered. They were in the middle of practice and everyone was staring at them, awaiting Kiyoomi’s pending outburst. Even Bokuto and Shouyou kept their mouths shut for once—or, well, Bokuto’s was hanging open. And who could blame them? Atsumu had done the unthinkable. He must have spent too much time around Osamu. That jerk was a bad influence. 

They had been grating on each other's nerves as always, arguing about one thing or another. Kiyoomi had pointed an accusatory finger at Atsumu. The urge to snap his teeth around that finger came about—and, for once, Atsumu hadn't resisted the urge. He hadn't been thinking, too caught up in the heat of their pointless argument and equally as distracted by the gleam of Kiyoomi's dark eyes as he was by the words being shot at him.

His jaw snapped shut, teeth grazing Kiyoomi’s finger. The other man pulled back at once, but it was too late. The warmth of his finger lingered on Atsumu’s lips. Kiyoomi stared at his hand, eye twitching. He huffed. Everyone else held their breath.

Atsumu gestured wildly. An endless stream of apologies was ready to fly out of his mouth. Only a strangled noise escaped him. 

“Shut up; it’s fine,” Kiyoomi snarled. The mixed emotions flashing over his face betrayed that it was anything but.

“Omi-kun—” he started but was interrupted. 

“It’s. Fine.” And, with that, he swiftly moved to the box of wipes he placed on the bench before every practice. He scrubbed his finger once, twice, three times and disposed of the cloth.Then he nodded to himself and moved back into position on the court. The rest of the team still stared in shock, wondering what the hell had happened to their prickly teammate. 

Meian, as the only real adult among them, clapped his hands twice and cleared his throat before ordering them all back into position. And that was it.

Atsumu still felt as if he were about to die. His lungs felt heavy. The warmth of Kiyoomi’s finger lingered on his lips.

***

Something had to be done. Atsumu’s plan was to use the current weekend for some much needed soul- searching. Or, at least, that was what Kita-san had advised him to do during their last phone call. He was, however, being herded to an interview with his fellow “monster” teammates. At least Kiyoomi looked a thousand times more unhappy to be there than Atsumu was. 

The interview was not all that interesting, just the typical questions about the upcoming season and team shenanigans. Atsumu was barely paying attention, more focused on Kiyoomi’s grumpy face. Their PR team forbade him to keep his mask on, so Atsumu was using this opportunity to stare at the slope of Kiyoomi’s nose and his barely contained frown. Honestly, Atsumu was not sure why he found him so attractive. He was difficult, rough around the edges, and more than a little strange with his constantly deadpan expression and disturbingly dry humour. He was terrible. Mouthy and sharp. Atsumu liked him either way. 

Akaashi’s words came to mind. _Whatever works, works, right?_ God, Atsumu was screwed.

To finish the interview, they planned to play a short game. They were to answer questions about each other to check their compatibility or whatever. Here all four of them were handed a pen and a white board. 

He knew this life was over the moment he took the items being handed to Sakusa and wiped them down without thinking, handing them to his teammate once he made sure everything was thoroughly disinfected. When had this become their new normal? When would this be aired anyway? Osamu would never let him live this down. The unreadable look Kiyoomi sent him didn't help his suffering at all, and Kiyoomi accepted the items either way, their hands brushing in the exchange, lingering just a touch too long. Kiyoomi lifted the corners of his mouth in a grateful little smile. Great. Atsumu imagined sinking his teeth into his soft features.

***

  
  


Okay, so maybe Hinata was right and they were close. Their relationship certainly had shifted. To where exactly that was, nobody knew. Or maybe Omi did and refused to tell him. That sounded like something the other man would do.

Currently Atsumu was sitting on the couch in Kiyoomi's surprisingly cozy apartment. As expected, it was impeccably clean. Of course it was. But Atsumu imagined something crazier, like plastic sheets over the furniture. Or no furniture at all. Instead, he was greeted by hordes and hordes of plants. Kiyoomi must have acquired them over the years. It was weird. Atsumu felt that he of all people shouldn't be there. (Not that he would decline an offer to hang out with Kiyoomi. No way.) 

Kiyoomi was by his side analysing a volleyball game. Or something. Atsumu wasn't paying attention and hadn't been for a while. Instead, he was debating if he could get away with grabbing Kiyoomi’s hand without being murdered. He’d been chanting _Just do it, just do it, just do it_ in his head for a few minutes now. And he'd come prepared. His red hands, scraped raw from intensive scrubbing, were his proof. For a second, Atsumu considered putting on rubber gloves, but Kiyoomi probably wouldn't take him seriously if he did. Probably.

_Do it. Do it. Do it._

Atsumu was sweating. He had been staring at Kiyoomi’s hand for the past ten minutes or so and he was sweating. Was this what a nervous breakdown felt like? He swallowed and flexed his fingers a few times. 

_Do it. Do it. Just. Do. It._

Why was this so hard? It weren't as though this would be the first time they would hold hands. But it would be the first time he initiated it. And what if the other man had a rule about this? But he really, _really_ wanted to hold his hand.

Suddenly, his hand was being grasped. Warmth spread into each of his cold, trembling fingers. “Are you even listening to me?” Atsumu’s gaze snapped up to meet Kiyoomi’s fierce eyes, and he could feel his face heati up immediately. He was as red as their national team jerseys. 

They stared at each other for a second—Kiyoomi in fond annoyance and slight confusion, Atsumu in pure shock which was quickly turning into embarrassment. At once, Atsumu broke their stare off seemingly to shrink into himself. His flush spread from the tips of his ears to the back of his neck. He moved his left hand up to shield his face from view. His right hand stayed secure in Kiyoomi’s grasp. The other man just kept studying him.

“Omi-kun, would it kill ya to stop starin’?”

“Why?”

He made a sound similar to a dying animal. “Because it’s embarrassin’?”

“Why?” Kiyoomi pushed on, eyes drilling into Atsumu. Not that Atsumu could see much of him with his face still covered by his red fingers.

Atsumu wanted to die. Kiyoomi shifted his hand, carefully intertwining their fingers once more. The corners of his mouth lifted in the barest hint of a smile. And, okay, maybe Atsumu wanted to die a little less. 

“I like you.” 

Never mind—death was the only option here. 

“Is this some kind of joke?” From between his fingers, Atsumu glared at him in disbelief. 

“Oh, my god, do you ever get tired of asking stupid questions?” _Okay, rude_. 

“No! Answer my question!”

Kiyoomi shifted so he fully faced Atsumu. His unoccupied hand rose slowly to move Atsumu’s hand away from his beet red face. Kiyoomi regarded the setter as Atsumu’s eyelashes fluttered open, his blush spreading all over his body. 

Instead he retorted, “This is not a joke. I like you.” 

This seemed to bring Atsumu a bit out of whatever state he was in. False bravado took over. Face still so, so red, he shifted his left hand to mimic Sakusa’s former movement, lacing their fingers together. He peered up at Kiyoomi’s face. Building himself back to his full height, Atsumu smiled. What an awful, impossible thing that smile was. He took his time studying Kiyoomi.

Kiyoomi’s eyes were so dark. When the other man blinked, Atsumu spotted the smallest hint of a mole on his right eyelid. For a second, Atsumu imagined leaning in to leave a tender kiss on it. _How sappy._ Unconsciously, he leaned in to get a better look, getting pushed back into reality once he noticed Kiyoomi’s steadily growing flush. Kiyoomi's body seemingly was stuck in a fight between squirming in discomfort and sitting as still as humanly possible. 

“What? Why are yer getting flustered now?” Atsumu hissed. 

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows knit together in unvoiced irritation. “Shut up.” His flush stayed as his eyes shifted to the side. There was a pause before he muttered, “I don’t mind.”

“What?”

“The touching. I don’t mind. If it’s you.”

Atsumu gaped at him, eyes wide in shock. "What if my hands are dirty?"

Kiyoomi winced. Trust Atsumu to bring up the worst thing he could possibly imagine. Nevertheless, Kiyoomi tried to rid his mind of images of dirty fingers and bacteria flying everywhere. He said, "I trust you."

The setter opened and closed his mouth a few times. He glared at Kiyoomi. The latter countered his glare with his usual deadpan expression. Atsumu’s face turned redder by the second. “You can’t just—” He cut himself off with a strangled noise. Hands flailed around. Atsumu's face was fully aflame.

Kiyoomi had learned early one that Atsumu was someone who just needed to feel whatever emotion he was going through. He feels and feels and feels and won't do anything else until he decided he was done. Atsumu was stubborn even in his most flustering moments. And once he was like this, it was best to let him be. So Kiyoomi simply kept staring at him. 

After a while, Atsumu pulled himself together. He licked his lips. Kiyoomi followed the movement with an intensity he so far only exuded on the court. “Well, this is unexpected. I thought ya hated me Omi-kun.”

“I don’t,” he stated matter-of-factly.

That did the trick. The last sprouts of insecurity gone, Atsumu once again drew himself up. With his chin held at an arrogant tilt, he said, “Oh, I must be so special then.” A proud grin formed on his face. “Wait, so, can I kiss ya?” he asked. Kiyoomi winced and thus shattered every bit of Atsumu’s carefully fabricated bravado. An easy lie of a smile immediately replaced his expression. “Never mind. What was I thinkin’?” he said, disentangling their fingers. 

Kiyoomi grabbed Atsumu's wrists once more. His hold was secure but not uncomfortable. “I didn’t say no. Let me think.”

“What?”

“Let me think.”

Surprisingly, Atsumu stayed quiet, eyes focused on their hands. When he lifted his gaze back up he could catch Kiyoomi closing his eyes. He looked nervous. If the wrinkle that formed between his eyebrows was any indication. After a beat Kiyoomi's breathing slowed. His features softened. When his eyes opened once more he seemed calm. Unwavering gaze shifting back to Atsumu. For the first time all Atsumu could read in the Kiyoomi’s eyes was tenderness. Not a trace of the previous disgust he's seen there before.

“Brush your teeth.”

“Huh?!”

“I can’t promise you that this will work. I don’t decide what works and what doesn’t. My boundaries are inconsistent. But I want to try. With you. If you’d want. If you'd let me,” he insisted. 

Atsumu for once stayed silent, his eyes filled with wonder.

“There’s a spare toothbrush in the cabinet in the bathroom. It’s the green one still in its wrapping. Go brush your teeth.” And, with that, Atsumu was gone in a flash. 

He returned, expression eager, smelling like mint. He once again sat next to Kiyoomi but started squirming immediately. “Oh, god, can ya close your eyes?” Atsumu asked, biting his lip.

“What? Why are you being so weird now?”

“Shut up! Just—urgh—why do I even like ya—you suck, Omi-kun.”

He snorted. “You, too, Miya.” 

“Call me 'Atsumu.'”

He chuckled and said, “Atsumu, you really, really suck,” but still he closed his eyes to indulge the other for the moment.

After a beat, Atsumu gingerly touched Kiyoomi's chin, fingers moving delicately to cradle his jaw, carefully tipping his face back. Atsumu couldn't help muttering, "Ah, ya really are that pretty, huh? I kinda want to punch ya right now." That made Kiyoomi open his eyes, but before he could say anything Atsumu was already lunging forward. The hand on his jaw moved further to tangle fingers softly in Kiyoomi's curls, pulling him towards Atsumu in the same breath.

Their lips met, noses brushing at first, so Atsumu angled his face a little more to the left. Kiyoomi lifted his hand, fingers brushing his ear and cupping the back of Atsumu's head. His other hand found its way around Atsumu’s waist, pulling him closer, finding the solid press of heat against his body unexpectedly anchoring.

Atsumu pressed into him, needing him closer and closer and closer. His hand slid down to Kiyoomi's neck. Absentmindedly, he stroked the pulse there. Atsumu caught Kiyoomi's bottom lip between his teeth, dragging them sharply along it until he could chase it with his tongue. He felt Kiyoomi take a sharp breath against his mouth. For a second, Atsumu feared he had pushed too far. But then, after a beat, he felt Kiyoomi press back. 

Taking this as a sign to go on, Atsumu swept his tongue past Kiyoomi's lips to skim slowly along the back of his teeth. A gasp escaped Kiyoomi—sound Atsumu felt more than heard. _God, that’s hot._

They pulled apart, lungs burning,. rapid heartbeats slowing down. For a few moments, Kiyoomi pressed his face against Atsumu's neck, closing his eyes briefly. Atsumu felt the tickle of Kiyoomi's eyelashes, his breath hot against his skin. Then Kiyoomi carefully disentangled himself from Atsumu.

In a daze, they studied one another. Atsumu licked his lips. Suddenly, a mischievous smirk grew on his face. “You know, if this is gonna be our new normal, I’m gonna develop a really weird relationship with toothpaste.” 

Kiyoomi pulled him back in before he could say anything worse.

***

  
  


When Atsumu met with Osamu the next day, he retold the previous events while Osamu pretended he didn’t care about his brother's happiness. “You know, I really didn’t see this coming,” Atsumu said, a small smile growing in his face. 

Osamu stared at him in utter disbelief and whacked the back of his head. “I did, dipshit.”

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [Mew](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mew_tsubaki) for beta reading this and making my crazy mussing comprehensible !!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writting it. Let me know what you think !!
> 
> I'm [adoonin](http://adoonin.tumblr.com/) on tumblr if ya wanna scream at me about sakuatsu


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